Thursday, September 23, 2010

The Line

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[281] Nymaya: The Line
Sat May 29 14:30:58 2010
To: New_Thalos All Keylan ( Reklah ) ( RP )
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The hours before dawn always seemed darkest and within the desert, oft held a bitter chill.

They were hours she had come to enjoy, though there was a lament to be found in them as her gaze trained southward, toward a black Keep that contained many of the answers she sought alongside many more questions yet.

Her sword drew a slow half circle in the sand at her feet as her dark blue gaze angled down. She could feel something coming, in the shadows that passed before the face of the black moon. In the wind that ran ethereal fingers through her long silver hair and whispered incomprehensible things within her ears.

She felt it ring true down into the depths of her soul - and lifted her gaze beneath long lashes to mark the heady presence that stepped into the sword circle.

She'd have known him anywhere, in any form, in any reincarnation. From the black hair that hung to his shoulders through which, her fingers had run time and again; the brown eyes - now black with intent - that had captivated her so completely, to the lips that had uttered portents to change a world within.

He stood opposite her, a long black blade grasped in one hand, a shield in the other. His armor was tarnished, as if it had withstood the flames of Hell but carried the scars even as he did.

There was nothing in what she saw now within his gaze that suggested the man she knew remained.

"Does the Abyss still have you?" She breathed, her voice a ghostly thing. As if she'd already crossed over that precarious line.

No. Came his answer and one black boot took a step closer, angling into a stance she'd seen him take before.

She knew she'd die if this happened - here and now. She was not his match. She wouldn't back down though, and she knew he knew that.

It has you.

And he took another step closer to the line that kept them apart. The wind arose then, lifting about them both as his eyes narrowed, promising so many more things worse than death.

The whisper in the wind breathed otherwise though.

And she awoke with a gasp so violent and deep that white spots burst before her nearly sightless eyes, her lithe form arching slightly from the bed in the throes of the nightmare.

The first hand that touched her shoulder broke with a clear resounding snap as her own hand shot out in response, dropping the young man to his knees with a cry of pain. The second about died as her left fist connected solidly along a specific point upon his throat, nearly crushing the airway, when he tried to intervene.

"Nymaya."

The voice was familiar, threading power and command with elegant ease, and she found herself blinking back unto full awareness. She still had the broken wrist of the first apprentice in her grasp while he writhed and the second had collapsed, blood dripping from his mouth, hands unconsciously clinging to his throat.

This wasn't the first time she had injured those attempting to rouse her from ill rest but as she looked upon them, she felt a moment of intense, black rage that they still lived - followed by profound embarrassment that she had lost control and injured the hapless fools. Even in a warded room.

What was she destined to become if she could not contain herself?

When her gaze finally settled upon the robed form of her brother standing in the archway, she could barely bring herself to believe that she saw concern. It was easier to handle his mockery and harsh sense of humor. She turned away from what she saw in his eyes as she released the apprentice with a mumbled apology and strode to the southern window. She had no idea if her
dreams were supposed to mean anything beyond what they tended to stand for in the moment, but what remained was never simple to navigate.

Inner Demons

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[272] Nymaya: Inner Demons
Fri May 21 02:18:55 2010
To: New_Thalos Keylan Dar'shin ( RP ) All
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Water fell from her in a fast torrent as she broke the surface of the pool, plastering her hair down the length of her bare back as she stood though its silver was muted in the low lantern light. Running her hands back over her scalp sent more water cascading down behind and her gaze shifted immediately to the surroundings.

Night had long since fallen upon the desert, leaving behind the eerie whisper of the wind, the origins of which felt far more steeped in shadow and dark memory. The flame of the lanterns flickered with it, even as deeply cloistered within the bath house as she found herself. One attendant dozed nearby, the only presence she had allowed to accompany her though more had tried to insist. The thought made her shake her head. The Sultan had probably sicced them on her...

Her sigh was whisper soft but still managed to be heard amongst the strange acoustics of the building. The sound stirred the attendant to wakefulness and with dutiful motions, the young woman arose carrying a small mound of towels.

Nymaya watched the dark brown gaze of the woman widen as she came near, drawn to the scars few ever saw. Abashed, the servant held a towel out when she stopped, her eyes dropping down quickly at a cool impassive blue look.

Accepting the towel slowly, Nymaya found her memories evoked by the individual marks as she stepped from the water to the tiled floor, far more pleased by the gentle lavender fragrance that followed than she could ever recall. She'd grown so used to the smell of metal and worn leather.

The act of drying was a slow, calming process - broken only once by the attendant who managed to scrounge up enough nerve perhaps to ask; 'Mi'lady, where did that one come from?'

Turning her head to glance once at the woman behind her, she noted where the woman was pointing and shifted her attention to the wide set of claw marks that were much faded but still pale and visible, ripping a long path down from her shoulder to mid-back.

"Demon" She remarked in a far-away tone. Her past was riddled with such portents. If she had bothered to take note back then, she might have seen what lie on the distant horizon for herself.

Strangely, tuning out the presence of the attendant, she found her thoughts drawn to the particularly disturbing memory of her nameless son. Wrapping the white towel around her body, she sought another while her mind tentatively picked at that infernal trial. He'd been whole and familiar to her eye. It had to have been a trick...

Trying to shake the memory from her, unwilling to dredge it up yet, she turned with the intent of seeking out her clothing - but stopped short as the sound and feel of steel piercing flesh whispered through the bath house - shuddered through her sharply.

Standing very still, her gaze met a down-turned head, which rose slowly to set familiar eyes upon her own.

"Mother" He whispered, a sound that let the pain loose through her body.

...and she awoke struggling for breath that wouldn't come for the longest time. It wasn't until she leaned over the edge of the bench, to cough blood upon the tile, that desperate gasps began to feed her lungs their lost air.

It was with a heavy sigh that she looked around, finding herself still within the mostly abandoned bath house. She'd about fallen asleep outside the warded tower.

Through the Dawn & The Soul's Measure

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[273] Nymaya: Through the Dawn
Fri Apr 30 15:15:13 2010
To: New_Thalos ( Necrucifer Imm RP ) All
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She didn't need her swords today as she glowered at the straw-filled dummy before her. Her knuckles, which she had unwisely left unwrapped, were scratched and torn by the material of the dummy and sweat ran its course down her coiled body.

Her own blood riddled the tightly packed straw contraption but she had long since become numb to the pain though no matter what she did, she could not alleviate the frustrated throb at her temples. She had taken pains to study the veining that scarred her now, but one of the 'gifts' she had received for her troubles within the infernal realm, but had discovered only that when pain struck her there, it simply could not be lifted.

She hit the dummy again, a quick series of solid jabs that sent jarring pain up through her arms into her shoulders, reminding her that no matter how well she had been trained - if she didn't loosen up, she could cause herself an injury. She almost didn't care but for the sake of herself, she managed to step back and shake out the tension that kept threading itself back into her shoulders and spine.

Who the hell did she think she was?

Her jaw clenched on her own silent rebuke. Throughout the night and now, into the dawn, she had been mentally flogging herself. The question she didn't know how to answer sent her in a dangerous flurry back at the straw-filled sack. She hit it then until she was gasping and only when she came to the realization that she had drained herself unto pure exhaustion did she step away.

Blood dripped freely - from the marks of her nails dug into her palms and from the wounded flesh along every inch of the back of her hands.

A strange, alien kind of defeat drew her into the corner where she had left her armor in an uncommon haphazard pile, where she sank down. She drew her knees up, resting her forearms across each, and bowed her head over her harsh shuddering breaths.

Silence followed after a time. A thing that blessedly encompassed even her thoughts. And with that same sense of defeat draining even the stress from her, she leaned her head back against the wooden wall of the stall...

...and opened her mouth to release a single gasp of terror.

No further sound escaped her as the shadowy, emaciated fingers of the creature reached down to grasp her temples. The pain that erupted then was breath-taking and every muscle in her body locked up. Even her throat constricted so hard she couldn't breathe, even if she'd tried.

I could bathe and be content in your self-castigation upon this plane of
existence, elfling. It goaded, its demonic whisper carrying the unholy scent of sulfur and blood. But I think it will be just as sweet when you join us.

The pain lessened then, leaving her panting with the remnants of agony, a fine tremble infusing her. She was trapped by its nightmarish gaze even then but mistakenly thought that it was over - until it started to laugh.

And she began to scream.

"Wali? Wali!"

She awoke with a ragged cry that rebounded off the walls of the stall, the worried hands of soldiers and guards alike holding her back. It took her only a moment to blink the fog of the nightmare away at which point, she was beset with embarrassment.

There was no way to gracefully extricate herself from this so she simply nodded to their urgent need to know if she was alright. When she wiped at her mouth and saw the blood there, she better understood what their worry had been about. Gathering up her discarded armor and weapons, and what was left of her dignity, she departed with an agreement to see a cleric.

She knew it was going to be a long day.

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[253] Nymaya: The Soul's Measure
Sun Apr 18 03:56:31 2010
To: New_Thalos Dar'shin ( RP Necrucifer Imm Religion ) Shalonesti_Kingdom
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She tried to sleep - but could not. 

She tried to meditate - and failed. 

The night was calm and cool, not uncomfortable within the palace, and the strange shading of the black moon cast itself through the thick pillars that lined the hallways, strung with thin lace and silk curtains. 

The breeze was humid this night with the scent of the sea and jasmine and as she moved with slow, thoughtful ease along the pathways of the sprawling elegant New Thalosian palace, she found herself honestly shying away from what had been reawakened in her. 

It was too much to hope for. 

Too much to hope that the terrible rift in her soul could be mended.  It had been there so long... 

The gardeners were gone when she entered the center of the courtyard, sent back to the servant's quarters to rest, and in the reigning silence the soft bubble and churn of the natural brook was almost loud. 

Almost.. 

She was not comfortable with lowering her guard.  Not even in the midst of a protected palace, full of guards, but she did then.  Bowing her head, she let fall her silver hair and closed her blue eyes to the crystal glimmer of the water below her. 

The exhale she released was so heavy.  Filled with all the ages of loss, anger, loneliness and despair she had managed to drag herself through.  It was a wonder to her, as she let her mind skim over the past, how she had managed to maintain any aspects of who she had been. 

If it had been within Shalonesti's purview to destroy her - to tear down all that she had been, all that they had created in her - well, she imagined they had done their job.  Four Speakers later and the pain was still so acute.  She couldn't prevent the black thought, not with the memory of the past so strong upon her this night. 

..my worth can be weighed with grains of sand..

The whisper-soft resonant sound of her sword's blade slipping from its sheath filled the large but close space as her own words breathed insidiously back at her, the folded elven steel shimmering even in the false light of the black moon.  She didn't feel herself sink down upon the soft grass until her knees touched the spongy surface but in the deep dark of the night, she found herself beseeching answers of the deceased.  Of her past.

"Necrucifier" She breathed finally, her finger tips passing lightly over the runes etched along the length of the blade while her mind went over their fervent meaning.  "Lend Your harrowed servant guidance."

...and unbidden, she heard it again.  The disturbing, painful dissonance. The tainted sound mocked everything that had once been pure in her.  It was strangely, wholly, fitting.  She didn't try to subdue the frustrated anger that arose beside it, she just sat there, listening to it as it breathed through the blade in her grasp.  She could feel madness there, could imagine slipping her fingers through its tainted essence and knew it would be so easy to embrace.  She had been walking that precarious edge for a very long time now. 

She began to draw back into the proverbial shell then and lifting her blade  before her now flinty gaze, she thought of the measure of her soul. It was too much to hope for. But into the stillness that fell about her like a  deathly pall, she recalled the Sultan's answer.

...And enough sand can kill.

A Moment's Respite

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[236] Nymaya: A Moment's Respite
Mon Apr 12 22:16:45 2010
To: New_Thalos Reklah
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The manor was quiet and cool, a considerable change from the dry heat of the desert, but bustling with activity.

Servants and guards alike were passing to and fro. She stopped in the main foyer as a small cluster of clerics following their local Priest parted around her, pausing only briefly to address "Lady Kayen" with hurried but respectful tips of their brow.

She watched it all with an unreal sense, though she knew exactly why the estate was in a flurry.

Reklah was back. She had simply not had enough time to sit back and let it sink in.

She considered that during a long, thoughtful pause, her gaze settled upon the fountain which bubbled softly amidst the clamor. His presence in her life again was surreal, almost unbelievable. She was both pleased and uncertain.

There were a good deal of changes yet to be made, wounds to be healed. Words to be spoken.

Her gaze shifted to the dual stairway that encircled the foyer before she began the long trek up and through the various hallways, until she came to the many-roomed suite that contained their personal chambers.

It was empty but it had seen use. In nearly a decade and a half, she had barely been able to bring herself to enter it. The surreal sense continued to encase her.

Her armor came off a piece at a time. It needed repairing. Sun, sand and general use had left it a little worse for wear. She wasn't thinking particularly about that though as she gazed down the length of her left arm. Her muscles ached and she noted that the scars - marks that had been set upon her in Fatale's name for her husband - were pink again. As if newly healed. Even the ragged mark across her palm into her wrist and forearm was pink.

Closing her eyes, she shifted her attention beyond such things. All the events that had occurred after his death had lead her almost inevitably back to...him. Instead, she summoned a servant to take her armor, another to draw a bath and then she set herself to the task of quill upon parchment.

The scritch of her work was strangely relaxing as her message came forth, of particular importance but not so necessary that it need be sent immediately, so she folded the vellum with care and left it to be found before egressing to the bathing room that had been built to exquisite specification off of the master chamber - drawn by the lavender-scented water and the promise of clean flesh.

She knew sleep would come after, a prospect that now left her uneasy but could not be circumvented.